


colors // ryden

by magnoliahoe



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kinda like a coffee shop AU but memeier, M/M, Smoothie Hut AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnoliahoe/pseuds/magnoliahoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**two-part fanfic**</p>
<p>Brendon has spent all his life in black and white, accepting that colors are just a myth and that soulmates don't exist. He has a wonderful girlfriend, mediocre job at a smoothie hut, average grades, and no complaints about life in general.</p>
<p>So what happens when suddenly, everything changes because of one man, a smoothie, and a hell of a lot of denial?</p>
            </blockquote>





	colors // ryden

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully i don't abandon this one

Wake up. Go to school. Go to work. Go home. Sleep. Repeat.

Brendon has a pretty nice system for himself, he's gotten used to it after the few months he's been in college. He's vaguely comfortable with his shitty smoothie hut job and overwhelming classes for music theory that really shouldn't be as overwhelming as they are. He's even okay with the slightly mediocre sex that he got out of his relationship with his long-term girlfriend, Sarah. He's _comfortable,_ he doesn't need to be particularly happy.

And he isn't even focused on being happy- he's focused on making his parents happy. If he marries a nice girl, has a few kids and a dog or whatever, maybe his parents will be proud of him. So he sticks through it, acts like it doesn't bother him when people seemingly find their soulmate in the smoothie hut - he even acts like he's not disappointed every time he touches Sarah and still sees in black and white. But it's okay - soulmates aren't even _real._

Even when customers describe the vibrant 'red' of the strawberries or the cheerful 'yellow' of the bananas, Brendon doesn't believe them. They're making it up to pretend like there's anything that could possibly last forever. They _must_ be, because if soulmates and colors were real, Brendon would have seen colors the very first time  
he and Sarah touched.

But even then, he's kidding himself. He had never found women particularly attractive, and he kind of would rather be with someone with a penis, but that isn't exactly possible when you have incredibly religious parents who would rather lock you in the closet than accept who you are.

Brendon had tried to come out to them at one point, when he was fifteen. That went about as well as expected.

-

_"Mom,"_ He had said, his voice strong and confident and everything that he wasn't, _"I need to tell you something."_

His mother had just smiles absently and continued with her knitting. _"Go on, then, dear."_

Brendon had swallowed the lump in his throat and played with the hem of his shirt. _"I-I, um.. I think I'm gay, mom."_

Brendon still remembers the look of just... pure _disappointment_ on his mother's face. His stomach dropping, his hopefulness disappearing into an overall feeling of embarrassment.

_"No, sweetie, who told you that? Do you know what that means?"_ His mother had looked around before carefully leaning in, _"It means you like other boys. That's just not natural. Did one of the boys at school call you a..._ homosexual?"

Brendon had decided not to try any more; he just shook his head, murmured a noncommittal "Nevermind, mom. You're right," before walking away, back into the closet where he belonged.

His mother just kept knitting.

-

The splitting headache is too much to show up to work on time, but apparently not enough to go home early. When Brendon shows up to the smoothie hut half an hour late and begs to be let off at his lunch break, his boss just scoffs and shakes his head. _What a prick,_ he must be thinking, _Acting as if he's gonna get some special treatment._

The loud whirring of the blender isn't doing anything to help his headache, it's actually doing much the opposite. Thankfully, he finds a bottle of advil in his bag and pops two of those on his lunch break, washed down with a cup of water and regret that he opted for a part-time job that granted no sick days.

Well, he can definitely take a day off, but that would be without pay and an entire shift's worth of money being lost won't do him any good.

He eats his mundane ham and cheese sandwich with disdain, and he figures that if his brain were the sky, it would be a rainy day. He's got around four hours left, four hours of blending the bland fruits and making awkward conversations with the loyal customers. What he wouldn't do to obtain ten grand right now- _and they say money can't buy happiness._

His day gets worse when his coworker and honorary only friend bursts through the door, a grin on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. She's gasping and laughing and squealing, running behind the counter to tug Brendon into a tight hug.

"I found her! Bren, I _found her!"_ She exclaims, bouncing like she's got something stuck in her foot. Brendon knows what this is about; he can tell. "My soulmate! She's the only other gay girl I've met, and- god, you have gorgeous eyes- anyway, she and I just met at this coffee shop and I spilled my coffee _all over her_ and when I went to help clean her up I saw them! Bren, the _colors,_ they're so real!"

Brendon almost feels bad for her, not to mention himself. His only friend, swayed into the belief of soulmates and colors and true love. It's a pitiful sight, really, but Brendon knows that if he doesn't congratulate her, he'll be the worst friend in the world.

"Shit, Stel, that's amazing!" He manages to gasp, his best supportive best friend smile plastered on his face. It's not. It's _sad_ , who knows what Stella is willing to do for her so-called soulmate now? He's seen people go crazy because of their soulmate, convincing themselves that whatever they do now is meant to be. Dumb excuses for their shitty actions. Stella isn't like that, is she?

God, he hopes not.

"Right? And, Bren, she's so pretty. I thought she was stunning in those dreary blacks and whites, but _god,_ when I could see her, I mean really _see her,_ she's just... She's a goddess, Bren, she really is."

Brendon glances around and notices people staring, some of them choked up with tears, others smiling happily, and the rest vibrating jealousy from their core. Or maybe that's just hatred for gay people. Either way, he feels embarrassed, his cheeks glowing a soft red.

"That's great, Stels, um, look. Let's talk about it later, yeah? We've got work-"

Stella seems put off and she pulls away, frowning. "Brendon. This is the first gay girl I've met in years, and she turns out to be my soul mate. This is huge! I-" She pauses, realization dawning upon her. "This is because she's a girl and I'm a girl. You want me to shut up because we're gay, because you're embarrassed."

Brendon's quick to defend himself. "No, no! Of course n-"

"Brendon," she cuts him off disapprovingly, her voice dropping low, "I know what people think when they hear about me being a lesbian. I see the girls zipping up their jackets and covering their chests when I'm around, I see the guys who are either trying to get a threesome with me or pretend like my identity doesn't exist." She lets out a sigh that puts a bad feeling in Brendon's stomach. "Didn't think you'd be one of them, though."

Brendon watches as Stella huffs and walks away, pulling out her phone to no doubt call her soulmate.

What a disaster that was. Maybe that says something about the rest of his life.

-

Three hours drag by slowly and a bit painfully, his headache just barely letting up. It's now a dull ache all around his brain rather than the sharp pain just to the left it had been when he first started work. He's gotten very acquainted with the ticking hands of the clock, as he's been glancing at them every two minutes.

God, what an awful day.

He watches the melancholy colors of the bananas and mangoes blending together and lets out a small sigh. There are no customers left in the store, and he knows it will stay that way; barely anybody comes around after two-thirty. Brendon's really thankful for that; if he has one more white girl ask if her smoothie is gluten-free, he just might explode. Or grab her by the hair extensions and bash her face into a wall.

He brings the smoothie up to his lips and takes a long sip, the coolness hitting the back of his throat and soothing the dull ache in his head.

He glances up when the bell at the door jingles and makes eye contact with a tired-looking boy around his age. The boy is wearing a dull vest and a scarf that makes him look like he's from the sixties, but somehow he makes it work with a hat covering his unruly, curly hair.

He's gorgeous.

The man walks up to the counter, a distant expression on his face as he orders a banana mango smoothie - or, the cleverly named _banango,_ but Brendon refuses to call it that and feels vaguely relieved that this guy refuses to call it that too.

He forces a tired smile and says, "Will that be everything today?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that'll be everything."

Brendon nods and turns to the blender, shoving bananas and mangoes and yogurt in it halfheartedly. He just wants to go _home,_ he's tired of the sound of the blender and the obnoxious people on the other side of the counter. Thankfully, this guy doesn't bother with small talk while Brendon makes his smoothie and pours it into a plastic cup. He spares a glance over his shoulder at the guy and bites his lip. He seems upset about something, but it isn't Brendon's job to ask. That's what a therapist is for.

The comforting silence is broken when the guy speaks up. "So, can you see them?"

Brendon doesn't look up. He knows what he's talking about, but he feigns ignorance. "See what?"

"Colors."

"No. Can you?"

"No."

Brendon looks up now, putting the lid on the cup. "That's 'cause they aren't real, dude."

The man seems taken aback, but his surprise melts into an almost angry expression that, for some reason, amuses Brendon. ".. Yes they are."

"Then why can't you see them? Why can't I see them? Why can't scientists explain how touching someone can make us see these bullshit colors?" Brendon counters, eyes narrowing into thin slits.

"Can you just give me my smoothie? I don't have time for this." The man is obviously losing his patience. _Good,_ Brendon thinks, _you can't wait forever for something that's not real._

"My pleasure." Brendon thrusts his hand towards the man at the same time he reaches out to grab it.

Their fingers brush.

Brendon freezes.

The smoothie falls, forgotten, to the floor.

And Brendon, for the first time, _sees._ Actually _sees._ He sees the vibrant yellow of the bananas and the bright red of the strawberries and the blue tiles on the floor, but what he's focused on, however, is the soft brown of the man's eyes, widening with each passing second.

"You-" The man starts, but Brendon is out the door before he can finish that sentence. He pauses briefly to stare at the rich blueness of the sky, but turns and runs down the sidewalk, away from the shop, away from _that guy._

He doesn't look behind him until he's run out of breath and can't run anymore, and he sees the guy from the shop running up to him.

"Hey! Hey, stop!"

Brendon shakes his head, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He stumbles backwards until he feels his back press against the wall. He manages to narrow his eyes into a halfhearted glare and spits, "Stay the _fuck_ away from me!"

The man steps forward slowly, his face almost... desperate. "Wait, just... Please. My name is Ryan. Ryan Ross." Brendon watches him - Ryan - carefully, eyes raking over the bright colors of his scarf. He can't help but notice the way Ryan's cheeks turn pink when he catches Brendon looking at him, but when Ryan takes a step closer, Brendon raises his arms defensively.

"Don't- don't come near me." He stutters, backing up further against the wall.

Ryan stills and nods slowly. "Okay. Okay, I won't."

Brendon takes this time to look at Ryan - properly look at him. He has curly hair - is that brown? - that ends just past his ear. It looks soft, but messy, and he finds himself feeling the urge to run his hand through it, to feel it between his fingers while he and Ryan lay together in a bed, maybe watching a movie, maybe listening the music - Ryan seems like the type of person to like The Beatles, and-

_No, Brendon, what are you doing? You have Sarah._

"What's your name?"

He considers, briefly, not even telling him - or maybe lying. But what would he gain from that? What would that get for him? He frowns and runs a hand through his hair, feeling a few drops of rain fall from the sky. There's one thing he likes - water didn't change. It's still clear. He wishes that that was the case with everything else, he wishes that nothing had changed.

Hesitantly, Brendon stands up straighter and answers, "Brendon. Brendon Urie." It takes all he has not to run again, because that's what he wants to do. Run and not look back, go back to his girlfriend and his family and his job, pretend like none of this ever happened. It would be so easy, too- he could wipe the name Ryan from his memory forever, hell, he could quit the Smoothie Hut job and find someplace else, or he could take Sarah and run away with her to a place where nobody could find them.

But then, there's something about Ryan that Brendon finds oddly alluring. Something different, something that isn't meant to happen. Ryan, with his kind eyes and his warm, nervous smile.

He wonders what color Sarah's eyes are - maybe they're blue, like the tiles of the smoothie hut, or green like the grass that he'd shredded with his shoes as he ran from Ryan. They could be red, like the strawberries - Brendon isn't sure how likely that is, but it would be quite the sight. Or maybe they're the color of Ryan's eyes, a deep brown with flecks of gold that catch in the sun.

And it occurs to him that everything now comes down to one thing: Ryan. The guy who showed up in his stupid smoothie shop and argued with him about soulmates. Nothing will be the same now because of him - being with Sarah will probably feel wrong now because he'll know that she isn't the one. He won't be able to look his parents in the eyes without being reminded of the cold truth that their biggest fear for their son has come true; that his soulmate is another man. And suddenly, the fear deep in the pit of his stomach disappears, and is replaced with resentment.

"Everything was great before you showed up," Brendon spits, this time being the one to take a step closer to the man. "I was- fuck, I was about to propose to her, you know? I thought for sure that she was the one. And then you come along, with your shitty ideas about soulmates and eternal happiness or whatever, and you just had to touch me, didn't you? Now there's this.. this explosion, and I can't fucking control anything anymore, and it's all _your fault!"_ Hefeels his hands clench into fists at his sides, his anger getting the best of him.

Ryan seems taken aback, to say the least, but he shakes his head. "You don't get to blame me for your denial. So what is it, then, huh? Let me guess - you have, say, homophobic parents, right? And they force you into the closet. So you have a girlfriend, who apparently you were going to propose to, and you're just so dedicated to making mommy and daddy happy." He narrows his eyes and steps closer, but Brendon holds his ground, even when they're so close that their noses are almost brushing. "So you repress all your scary gay thoughts. Well, honey, don't think that I'm going to keep this a secret from anyone. I'm not going back in the closet just because my soulmate is a self-centered asshole."

"Don't act like you know shit all about my life. You don't know anything." Brendon can't say much other than that, because he's actually mortified at how right Ryan actually is.

"No, trust me, I know. You aren't the first closeted 'oh, woe is me' gay guy I've met, and you certainly won't be the last, so maybe take your head out of your ass for just one minute to see what's actually in front of you-"

Brendon can't really bring himself to focus on the words Ryan is saying because he's more so focused on the lips that they're coming from, and he really does mean to punch Ryan, but somehow the hand he raises to punch him ends up on the back of Ryan's neck and he's pulling him in, their lips meeting somewhat awkwardly. Really, it's a miracle that their teeth don't bang together, because Ryan is so caught off guard that his mouth is still open.

It takes Ryan a few moments to register what's happening, but Brendon doesn't notice; he's too busy noticing how soft and warm Ryan's lips are, and he's too busy forgetting about Sarah and his parents, and he's too busy pulling Ryan closer, craving more of the body warmth that Ryan's emitting. Ryan soon starts to kiss back, and Brendon feels a hand on the small of his back - Ryan's pushing him backwards, and soon Brendon's shoulder blades hit the brick wall once again.

It feels much too soon when Ryan breaks the kiss, his face flushed red and breathing heavily. Brendon stares at him, their faces only inches apart and their breaths mingling together as each of them struggle to regain composure. He'd never kissed like that, even with Sarah.

Ryan is the first to speak, but it's a simple, breathy, "Fuck."

"I know." Brendon replies in a rough voice.

Ryan pulls away fully, leaving Brendon against the wall with weak knees. "I can't do this. Not if it's going to be a secret." He pauses, but when Brendon says nothing, he continues. "I'll be at the smoothie hut in a week. Get your shit together, okay?"

And then Ryan is gone, and Brendon is alone again.


End file.
